Serpent In The Stone: Dawning
by Somerandomuser
Summary: Harry's nerves as his name is called for the sorting overtake him. The hat is brought down on his head and from its sewn mouth screams forth one word, "SLYTHERIN!" What will Harry do with self-righteous prats as friends? Will Ron even remain his friend?
1. Chapter One: Of a Sort

**Disclaimer**: I make no money off of this, and likely will gain no recognition, either, therefor I do not claim anything as my own, precisely.

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**Of A Sort**

_Chapter 1_

"SLYTHERIN!"

What Harry expected when he pulled the hat off his head, heart pounding in his chest, was that the whole room would be muttering. Fighting that small voice in his head which whispered that he was in some way wrong, bad, he pulled the ancient hat off his head. What he was met with was silence. Someone sniffled, someone coughed, and they all stared. He knew he was turning red, and did his best not to acknowledge it. Harry placed the unwieldy headgear on the wooden stool, unaware as it wobbled just lightly on the edge.

It was like some sort of cue. The muttering started then. He saw Ron in the crowd of first years, looking at him as if he were something not quite right, and it surprised him that it hurt. After all he'd only known Ron for a few hours. A noise won out over the muttering, and Harry turned his head toward the table beneath the silver and green banners. Draco Malfoy was standing, clapping as other students in other houses had done for other first years. For a reason unbeknownst to Harry, the rest of Slytherin joined in.

"Please, take your seat," McGonagall intoned, and somehow he thought he heard undue harshness. Harry took a deep breath and descended from the dais. He had to cross the sea of unsorted first years to get to the Slytherin table, and since the crowd had thinned considerably, that meant being near Ron. He had to say something, but he didn't know what it was he wanted to say. As he got close, words came unbidden.

"I'm sorry," he said, and then he came out the other side where the Slytherins were still hooting and hollering like they were out on a playground in primary school. He found an empty seat beside Draco, and despite his past misgivings about the boy—and his definition of what made a person better or worse—he took the seat. Harry didn't speak to anyone, but then they all had turned their attention to the person directly after him. A young black boy by the name of Dean Thomas was sorted into Gyffindor as Harry began to allow his eyes to wander, taking in the Great Hall.

When he heard the call "Ronald Weasley," Harry looked up. Draco snorted beside him, and he shot the blonde a glare, one that apparently quelled his case of the giggles. Ron took the opposite course of most of the first years. As he approached the dais, instead of being sheet white, his face had changed color to nearly match his hair. Harry heard Draco mutter something about this, but didn't pay attention.

"Oh! Another Weasley, eh?" Ron visibly shuddered on the stool. "Well, I know just what to do with you. GRYFFINDOR!" The boy seemed to shrink briefly, hunching over in obvious relief. In reality, the hat seemed to have barely touched his head before making up its mind. If a hat can be said to have a mind, Harry supposed. The last boy was tall for his age and looked like an athlete. His skin was as dark as Dean Thomas' but his slanted eyes were different from the Gryffindor's in their intensity.

"Blaise Zabini," McGonagall called. The boy ascended the stairs quietly, not showing any sign of having paid any attention to anyone around him. Just as the hat began to descend upon the boy's head, something happened. It was a moment, so faint and quick that Harry almost wrote it off. There was a twinge of pain in his head, one that caused him to take enough notice to look away. When he did, he heard the sorting hat announce, "SLYTHERIN!"

In the ensuing moments, he stood up with the rest of his house, mostly to be polite, and clapped. Around him several students began whooping and hollering, but he just clapped. His eyes stayed glued to where they had been when the boy was sorted. To the face of a tall man with dark and oily looking hair that sat to the left of Professor Quirrell. Finally, the man looked directly back at him, and in his eyes he saw an impassive sort of distaste. Perhaps the man was in pain, perhaps he just didn't like being stared at by a kid. Either way, he made Harry's stomach churn slightly.

As Blaise Zabini took his seat down at the other end of the table, Harry did the only thing he could think of, elbowing Draco Malfoy in his side.

"Oi, what's that for?" Draco asked, looking at him indignantly.

"Who's the man beside Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked right back, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. He didn't dare look back up at the man, who he could only hope was no longer glowering down at him as if he were a bug—it reminded him far too much of his uncle—and instead kept his eyes on Draco's face.

"That's Professor Snape. He's a friend of the family, and our House head. He teaches potions." Harry nodded, resignedly. It was his first night at Hogwarts, and already he was scared. Not of the Castle, it seemed absolutely brilliant, actually, but because everything was so different, and there were people he just couldn't understand. What was worse, the one friend he thought he had made probably hated him, and it definitely seemed like his house head did too. "Don't worry, he just seems scary. Just don't make him mad," the blonde offered.

Finally, Harry's eyes returned to the dais. Instead of holding the sorting hat, it was now occupied by a podium. Behind it was the Headmaster. Looking not unlike his picture on Harry's chocolate frog card. He made a sweeping glance across the floor, and spoke, opening his arms to the crowd as if to group them into some sort of large hug. While a bit on the side of ludicrous, it was a nice gesture, a friendly one.

"Welcome everyone, to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we begin," he said, quickly. "I have a few words to say." The man brought his hands to rest on the podium, folded over as if about to deliver grave news, though his face and demeanor suggested otherwise. "Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak."

Harry sat in surprised silence. A few of the first years in the hall seemed to have the same reaction. Many of the older students ignored the statement completely, and a few—definitely not Slytherins—raised their empty goblets as if it were a toast. He turned to Draco, who was muttering.

"Barmy, isn't he?"

"Maybe," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Tuck in," the man announced. And in that moment the most spectacular piece of magic Harry had yet seen occurred. On large plates running the length of the table—and indeed every table—food began appearing. Heaps and heaps of amazing food, more food than he'd ever seen in his life, smelling better than anything Aunt Petunia had ever cooked. He was hit with a terrible hunger in that moment, and looking around he saw the same thing on the faces of his housemates. The blonde beside him wasted almost no time scooping potatoes onto his plate, and Harry himself grabbed the closest thing to him, a large, juicy looking hunk of steak.

Very few others seemed as amazed as he was, but he couldn't seem to stop the feeling that this was how people were supposed to eat. His aunt wasn't glaring at him for every little morsel he put on his plate, and despite the obvious competition to get to favorites fast—including some strange-looking items that didn't seem to belong—there was no Dudley to let his voracious appetite ruin Harry's chances at a meal. To his surprise, instead of conversing with anyone else at the table, Draco Malfoy struck up a conversation with him.

Hesitantly, he let the conversation roll, listening to Draco talk about dinner at his family's last Christmas party. The way Draco described his family fit with Ron's suggestion that they were high-class, and well off. That didn't mean anything to Harry, one way or another. And for the moment, Draco was being rather pleasant, so he didn't mind talking to him. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Draco Malfoy than the superior air he had when he talked down to Ron. Ron, Harry noted, hadn't looked toward Slytherin table throughout the whole feast.

He felt a twinge in his stomach as he continued to listen and to eat, and it had nothing to do with the food he was eating. The way Draco spoke of his father, the man was strict, and demanding, and not unlike his Uncle Vernon, but Draco spoke of him with something he could almost equate to love, but reminded him more of the way Dudley's friends talked about him. Loyalty, kind of. His mother was spoken of with praise, and a smile on Draco's face. It just made Harry remember the dreams he would have as a child, of a long-lost relative appearing to take him away from the Dursleys.

Finally, the blonde fell silent. He didn't help push the boy back along into talking, because he found himself feeling content as far as his stomach. It allowed his mind to turn to worries. Ron had been so sure that Slytherin was a house for evil people. It felt like the redhead had become his friend on the train, but suddenly he wouldn't even look at Harry. Without thinking, he turned to look toward Gryffindor table, and found the Weasley Twins looking past him. Ron's back was to him, as usual, but when he noticed the Twins looking past him instead of at him, he turned and followed their gaze, meeting Harry's.

The redhead turned away immediately after noticing Draco beside him. Harry frowned, irritated. If that was the kind of person Ron was, he was just as bad as Draco had been earlier. They were both gits, though there was a difference: Draco hadn't sneered at him from across the room. The twins turned back to Ron, after giving Harry a look he couldn't quite name. Harry looked up at the hook-nosed teacher who headed up his house. It was with another flip of his stomach that he realized the look Ron had just given him was not at all different from the one the professor had given him.

Harry sighed, and turned his attention back to his plate. As soon as he had, the scraps of food vanished. The plates lining the center of the table followed suit, and soon the tables were burdened not with dinner foods, but heaping plates and bowls of desert. Aware he had eaten a lot—perhaps he had been overwhelmed—Harry let Draco have first dibs on the bowl of chocolate ice cream, and then scooped out a scoop for himself. Over at the Gryffindor table, the Weasley twins were laughing at something Ron had said or done, and judging by his hunching shoulders, Ron was embarrassed or angry.

"Why do you keep looking over at that riffraff?" Draco intoned from his side. Harry jumped. He felt guilty without reason for being caught, and turned to look at the blonde, putting on an irritated face.

"Don't call them that. I like Ron, he's my—" Harry stopped, aware that if he finished the statement, he could be lying.

"Your friend? Don't be ridiculous," the blonde replied snobbishly. "He sure hasn't acted like one, besides, why would you want him for a friend?" Harry was shocked to find how much the boy beside him tested his patience. Angrily, he turned away from the Malfoy.

"Because I like to be friends with stuck-up self-righteous prats who think they're better than each other!" Almost as soon as he spoke, he regretted it. It was the sort of impulsiveness that would have earned him a cuff to the ear back at the Dursleys'. The blonde reacted almost immediately.

"Sod off," Draco spat, standing from his seat with his hands on the table. Harry was honestly regretful of the insult. "No one insults me and gets away with it, and how dare you compare me to that... that blood-traitor." Having succeeded in making Draco angry enough to make a scene, he could either back down and hope the blonde calmed down fast—which didn't seem likely—or defend himself. Then there came the matter of what a "blood-traitor" was.

"Stop insulting my friend, then," he replied, standing up himself. Now he could feel eyes on them, as the rest of the Slytherin table started to pay attention. Harry ignored that he was literally shaking from adrenaline, and a bit of worry.

"Some friend he is, you ungrateful arse." The blonde drew his wand. That in and of itself was enough to pop a hole in Harry's self confidence. He didn't know any magic, and Draco had lived in the magical world. Harry only knew one way to fight. When the boy drew his hand back as if to do something with his wand, Harry pushed him, sending his housemate stumbling back. Before he could even feel bad about it, he heard a voice bark out his name.

"Potter," the voice called. It was filled with loathing, angry, disgusted. "Malfoy! Five points each from Slytherin, and detention with me on Saturday night." Harry turned on the spot. Almost directly in front of him, was the hook-nosed dark-haired teacher with the angry face. "Both of you, my office, come." Overly-long cloak swishing centimeters above the ground, Professor Snape seized him by the shoulder, and made him turn and start walking. Harry was going to protest when Snape's other hand grabbed Draco by his right arm and steered him away. He didn't say a word, trying not to match anyone's eyes as he was escorted the length of the Slytherin table.

Somehow, someway though, his eyes drifted slowly over the face of one student at the far end. The boy, Blaise Zabini was staring, intense and sharp eyes watching him without a bit of hesitation. So intense was the stare that Harry didn't break eye contact until he was too far away and forced to. He saw Ron turned, watching them with no discernible look on his face, and the twins speaking to each other. Hermione Granger was muttering quietly to an older redhead, who was no doubt Percy, though Harry didn't have enough time to look at his face before he was dragged past the Gryffindor table entirely. Draco protested and whined as they were lead out into the hallway. As soon as they were out of the doorway to the Great Hall, Professor Snape released first Draco and then Harry. Draco opened his mouth as if to argue, and Professor Snape put on the most terrifying scowl Harry could remember ever seeing.

"Move," the Professor commanded, stepping between them and leading the way. He and Draco stood at a distance from each other, the blonde scowling as they each followed on the wake of the trailing cloak. They followed for a minute before reaching a staircase that lead down, underground. Almost immediately upon reaching the bottom step it was like stepping into a new world. Torches lined the halls, as in the main hall of Hogwarts and everywhere else that he had yet seen, but the ceilings were somehow lower here, a darker stone, and curved. It was almost, no, it _was _like walking through a tunnel.

Harry couldn't resist taking it all in, unable to hide his amazement. When his eyes strayed to Draco, he saw that the boy wasn't reacting far too different. Draco noticed this and instantly turned away, unable to make his face seem as if he were doing anything other than pouting. As they walked the hall began to become more and more tunnel like, even darker. They moved past a large portrait of a tall man in dark robes standing, arms crossed across his chest, against what looked like a pair of large wooden doors. His eyes followed them, and Harry had the feeling he was constantly on the verge of screaming.

Not more than another minute of walking later, Professor Snape stopped in between two doors. He moved to the right one and pulled it open without a word. When he turned to look at the pair of them, his eyes were as angry as when he pulled them out of the Great Hall. It made Harry feel ill somehow, though not exactly afraid. _Then again, _he decided as he walked into the room, _I'm not exactly comfortable with him. _He and Draco didn't have time to sit down in the chairs in front of the desk before they heard the door slam shut. Harry barely had time to wonder whether the man was about to shout before Professor Snape was standing in front of them, the scowl on his face intensified.

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**A/N: **Well, if you've managed to make it this far, I want to congratulate you, and wouldn't mind to hear your response and thoughts. Allow me, first, to speak to you a bit of the nature of this story. While it will stay true to canon in many ways, there are going to be radical differences, many caused by this one change from canon, rippling out into the world. Some of them will be ripped right out of my own head and molded into the HP world. While we will for the most part follow Harry, there will be need, many times, to look into the heads of several of the supporting characters. Do I know how long this storyline will last? No. If you've read my past stuff, you might know I have had a tendency to fail to finish long projects. However, I'll make this promise and try my best to keep it up: 1 chapter a month _**minimum**_. I will try to work for 2-3 hours a night, which for me in the right mindset? Can be somewhere in the range of 2-5k words a night.

Last but not least, like a lot of fics of early time that intend to carry on, or may well carry on, shipping will eventually become a reality. While I know what I intend, I do not know for sure what will result as far as pairings. I like to ride out the storm that is a story and let what happens happen if it flows right and feels proper for the story. So some warnings: there is a 100% chance for Non-Canon pairings, and an incredibly high chance for, (not in this story in all likelihood) slash (Same-sex) pairings. If this bothers you, feel free to walk away, I don't mind too overly much, though hope you will continue reading. I guess a good term for this situation might be pre-slash? I don't know.

So my question for readers who are still reading: How do you guys feel about Harry's reactions to Ron and Draco? `


	2. Chapter Two: Like Night And Day

**Disclaimer**: I make no money off of this, and likely will gain no recognition, either, therefor I do not claim anything as my own, precisely.

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**Like Night And Day **

_Chapter 2_

Placed between them and the desk burdened with papers, Professor Snape was clearly angry. In fact, he looked as if he _was _going to yell. Harry thought about covering his ears, but didn't know if that would get him in more trouble. Up close the man was taller than Harry thought and he didn't seem to be able to break his glare away from Harry long enough to start speaking. It reminded him so much of his uncle that he began to have a doubt in the back of his mind as to whether Hogwarts was going to be any better than the Dursleys'. And then the man opened up his voice and he was yelling.

"I will not have you, either of you, besmirching the name of Salazar Slytherin, or Slytherin House!" Draco didn't recoil, but Harry fought with everything he had to not do so. The man finally broke his eyes away from Harry and let them land on Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, I expected far better from the son of a man on the school's board. I know your father raised you with more tact and common sense than this!" The head of Slytherin turned back on Harry. "Use what little might be rattling in your head to understand this, Potter. You might be giddy with the knowledge that many of the fools in England see you as some sort of hero out of a child's storybook, but to me you are not special. You will not bring shame upon my House. Do we have an understanding?"

Harry wanted to yell back. The man stood above him, yelling at him, calling him stupid, arrogant. He hadn't done anything to deserve it, and the man didn't even know him. Professor Snape seemed to know what he was thinking, and drew closer to him, leaning forward. He paused there for a moment and then repeated himself. The question was asked with extreme malice, dripping with anger.

"Do we have an understanding?"

Harry felt himself lick his lips nervously, but he nodded. He just wanted the man out of his face, though while he was there Harry was able to note the differences of the situation versus a good tongue-lashing from Uncle Vernon. Professor Snape's face had managed to stay a color normal in human beings, and he wasn't wheezing. He also wasn't making any actual threats. What Harry wanted to know was why the man thought he was so bad. It didn't exactly hurt or anything, he didn't know or care about him, but it was puzzling and more than a bit upsetting.

"You'll go along to the commons now," the Potions professor said, pulling back. "The password is Goblin Teeth." Without a pause, he stepped behind his desk and sat down on it. Harry was allowed in that moment to see the large cauldron steaming and hissing in the corner, shocked to find he hadn't heard the sound at all before. It was actually rather loud, and despite it all, interesting. "Dismissed." Draco started for the door and walked out without a single word. Harry stopped before he left. "Are you deaf, Potter, you're dismissed!"

He turned back to face his professor. Though he was worried it would get him in trouble, his curiosity got the better of him. He stuttered on his first attempt to speak, feeling but not seeing Draco's eyes on the back of his neck. Finally he got up the courage.

"Professor, what's in the cauldron?" he asked the man, aware now of the faint scent of lavender reaching his nose. He knew the smell from weeding Aunt Petunia's garden, and enjoyed it. Though Professor Snape raised his head, his face now far more impassive, Harry stood his ground and waited on the answer.

"It's called a Calming Draught, Potter. Now if you don't mind, I've got far better things to do than try to teach you something beyond your comprehension!"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied, turned to leave the room, right before he shut the door, he looked back and said, "I'm sorry I've disappointed you." He let the door shut with a light click. When he did, he turned back to find Draco staring at him in amazement.

"He just yelled at you and you're.. what, brown nosing him?" Harry bristled.

"It wasn't like that at all," he replied, walking off. "We did something wrong and he got mad. I don't know why he hates me so much but... I'm used to it." Harry kept going, but stopped a few steps later, turning to find a silent Draco behind him. "Where's the common room?" Draco sighed exasperatedly and lead on. Despite that though, the silence only lasted a couple of seconds more.

"You said 'prats'," Draco said. Harry turned his head to the boy who was leading him, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Earlier, in the Great Hall, you said you were friends with 'prats.'" Harry nodded, he had. Was Draco trying to start the argument all over again? "Does... that mean we're friends?"

Harry thought honestly and hard about the question. It was actually a good question to ask. After all they hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot, whether you looked at their first meeting at Hogwarts or the one in the robe shop while they were being fit for robes. Draco had told him he didn't think people who weren't raised by wizards should be allowed at Hogwarts. Harry noted he hadn't been raised by wizards.

"I don't think so," he said quietly, looking up at the blonde, who was suddenly looking affronted. "But then again, I don't think I really do have friends." He had, after all, technically known Ron for less time than Draco, and Ron wasn't acting much better than Draco had that day. "Before, you said you didn't think they should let people like me into Hogwarts. I was raised... well, I lived with muggles, and my aunt says that my Mum was the first witch in our family."

"So you're...a half-blood," Draco said, suddenly sounding more like the boy from the robe shop, with the drawling, disdainful voice. "And you know as much as any mudblood," he said. "But here's the difference," Draco's voice changed quite suddenly. "I think we should be friends."

"Maybe," Harry replied, a bit shocked at the earnest tone. "But if we're going to try it, one condition." The blonde's face wrinkled, as if affronted again. "Don't call me a half-blood or a mudblood, I don't care what either of them mean. I don't like them." Harry was reminded of the contemptuous way he was spoken down to by his aunt and uncle. The blonde was taken aback by the bluntness, and Harry stopped walking until he responded, forcing Draco to stop and turn back. There seemed to be some sort of internal war, momentarily, and he screwed up his face, as if angry before sighing. It really was like Dudley being told he couldn't have any more cake, before deciding he had already had too much and was sick.

"Fine," Draco told him before he started moving again. As Draco turned away, Harry found himself actually smiling. Everything was a bit disconcerting, new, and a bit distressing, but it looked like he might actually have a friend, and despite the similarities to his cousin, Draco seemed willing to compromise.

They stopped outside of the portrait of the tall man against the doors, wand drawn in one hand as his arms crossed his chest. He uncrossed his arms, wand brandished. He didn't say anything, and Harry, who wondered if it was strange to talk to a portrait, didn't say anything back. Draco however, took the lead in this like it was second nature. Harry watched quietly, hoping to later not feel foolish.

"Goblin Teeth," the Malfoy said. The man in the portrait raised his wand just slightly, before Harry was forced to jump back as the portrait and the wall behind it swung outward. Looking past it, he saw... green, and a few steps lit by torchlight. Slowly Draco descended the steps as if this was some sort of amazing moment, and Harry followed on his heels. Once he reached the bottom of the steps and saw the Slytherin common, he felt a bit of his own awe.

The walls were rough stone, and occasionally a tickle of water trailed down one, in what was clearly a well established path. The ceiling looked to be stone as well, but something was different about it. It was like the stone wasn't completely opaque and something moved beyond the ceiling. Hanging by chains from it were many lanterns, bathing the room in a soft green light. Compared to every part of Hogwarts he had yet seen, the ceiling was awfully low as well. The long room had only one light source that wasn't emerald, and that was a fire in a carefully crafted intricate fireplace at one end of the room. A few tables were on their right as they descended the stairs, and a lot of chairs and couches to their left. Harry was brought out of his marveling by Draco's interruption.

"Wicked, right?" Harry nodded out an agreement. "I've been waiting for years to find out I was going to be a Slytherin just like my father and grandfather." Pride settled in his voice, and Harry found it not all that different from Ron talking about Gryffindor. Frankly, the similarities between the two boys were so defined that he thought he'd grow bored of noticing them very soon.

"I don't know what Houses my parents were in," Harry said, reminded of Draco's statement that he might meet the same end as his parents. Somehow, it didn't flare up old anger. He realized that it was the rude mutterings of a spoiled brat that he had heard, and somehow found Draco far more bearable than Dudley. Instead he just tried to forget it.

"Well everyone knows that, don't they?" The statement was made with a sort of contemptuous tone, but when the blonde continued, it was gone. "They were Gryffindors."Harry felt rooted to the spot, remembering that the hat had been debating quietly between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He felt bad, wondering if these parents he'd never known would be ashamed of him. "Bunch of reckless idiots, Gryffindors, if you ask me.'

Harry shook his head to say that he _hadn't _asked Draco, and instead wandered to the other side of the room. There were two openings in the wall, leading even further underground. These were lit by the same lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A large 'B' was carved into the stone above one of these doorways. He walked down the stairs. Alternating on each side of the hallway were seven doors, an eighth resting at the very end of the long hall. He heard Draco behind him but didn't acknowledge the blonde, irritated. Didn't he understand that this was an uneasy peace and he was pushing it? On a plate on each door was etched a word: First, Second, Third, and so on. At the end of the hall was a bathroom, five toilet stalls lined one wall, five sinks lined up beside them, a long mirror stretching across each sink, and the vast majority of the room was taken up by showers, each of which had a curtain on a ring around them.

It was as he was examining this room that the pain wracked through his skull. Harry took a step forward, stumbling as his head began to throb in time with his heart. The pain was coming from the scar on his head. He backed out of room, not thinking clearly, and ran smack-dab into Draco. He turned, eyes wide from the pain and shook his head as it began to fade away.

"What in the bloody hell's wrong with you?" The boy straightened up, reaching out a hand to steady Harry who momentarily felt dizzy. "You look like someone hit you with the _Confundus._" Harry didn't ask what that was, but shook his head clear of everything.

"Sorry," he replied. "Just a headache." That wasn't true. It was nothing like a headache, it was something more, something he'd never felt this intensely before. He didn't know what to think about it

Without giving Draco a chance to say anything, he walked back toward the door to the First Year boys dorm. He opened it with a click and let out a sigh of relaxation as he entered. The emerald light of the room was a bit duller than in the common. It was strange to look upon himself under a green hue, and more than a little disconcerting to think that this would be how he would see everyone and anyone who came and went through the Slytherin common. Looking closely he found his trunk at the foot of one of the beds. Draco looked around the room momentarily, until he stopped in front of the bed beside Harry's. The trunk in front of it was labeled with the initials 'B.Z.' in large golden letters.

"Help me," Draco said, and it didn't come out as a demand or an order, so Harry approached. His fellow Slytherin crouched down at one end of the trunk and began to lift.

"What are you doing?"

"Just help me," he shot, as if in a hurry. Harry grabbed the other handle of the trunk and did as he was told, hoping he didn't get in trouble. It was incredibly light when he lifted it, lighter than it looked like it should be at least. Following Draco's lead he brought it down to rest in front of a trunk at the foot of another bed. Without stopping to explain Draco bent down and grabbed the other trunk, and Harry assisted him in moving it back to the bed beside his own. It was only when he saw the name 'Malfoy' etched into it that he understood.

Harry climbed up into the bed meant for him, aware he was dead tired, not even intending to change into the oversized T-shirt and pajama bottoms he usually wore to sleep. Draco, apparently equally tired, changed behind the curtains of his bed. Harry briefly considered drawing his, but by that point Draco drew his back just a bit, and Harry saw the blonde looking at him curiously.

"You're different than I expected," he informed Harry.

"No offense, but I think that might be a good thing." Harry drew the curtains around his bed closed. "Goodnight, Draco."

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**A/N: **So many of you dedicated HP fans are by now, no doubt aware Harry missed some very interesting information that the school as a whole was given on the night that just came to an end for him. No worries, that will be addressed in time. Next Chapter, day one of classes, and more. Question of the chapter: How do you feel Harry's reaction to Snape was, given these circumstances?


	3. Chapter Three: Professor Snapes Praise

**Disclaimer**: I make no money off of this, and likely will gain no recognition, either, therefor I do not claim anything as my own, precisely.

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**Professor Snape's Praise**

_Chapter 3_

_Professor Snape stood over a smoking, boiling cauldron. On his head was a long-tipped blue wizard hat, patterned with gold stars and moons. He had a wand in his hand, waving it grandiosely over the cauldron. He didn't seem to notice Harry standing in the doorway to his office. The man turned from over the cauldron, rolling up his sleeves and thrusting both hands toward a closet door, one Harry didn't remember having seen. The door burst open, and out marched an army of broomsticks, each with small, scrawny arms. _

_The professor turned to face him, and the look of strange fixation and fervent excitement vanished. Suddenly he was inexplicably angry, glaring at Harry as if his eyes truly could pierce him. And those eyes were something else, too, bright red. _

"_First years aren't allowed their own brooms, Potter," Professor Snape snarled, and flicked his wand toward him. The army of broomsticks began to march toward him out of the closet, the apparently ever large closet. Harry was rooted on the spot, unable to move out of the way. "Thirty points from Slytherin!" The brooms fell on him, grabbing at his arms and legs. _

He opened his eyes, and briefly wondered if he had gone mad. He was surrounded by green, patterned green with small silver moons and snakes across it. He shook his head hard, and the world didn't change, but his mind did.

He relaxed as he realized he was in the Slytherin dormitory. Days ago, he had been brought to Hogwarts on a train. He'd been sorted into the house his friend from the train thought was evil, he'd tried to make friends with a spoiled 'pureblood' who thought himself a lot better than everyone else, and he'd managed to get them both a detention. All in all, when put in this frame of thought, he began to wonder how long it would take him to really mess up and get kicked out of Hogwarts. How long would it take before they realized he didn't belong there?

He heard shuffling feet, clothes being pulled from trunks, whispers and quiet laughter. He wasn't the only one awake. Over the past four days he'd come to be used to not waking up alone. He pulled his curtain open. Every one of the other five first year boys were up and making noise which became more clear when the curtains opened. Draco was sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes while talking to Crabbe and Goyle, who had been sorted into Slytherin just like him. Harry saw Goyle look toward him. The boys made him think physically of some sort of mixture of Ron and Dudley, and it wasn't pretty.

Blaise Zabini was waking up in a far more calm manner, sitting on the floor next to his trunk with a book in his hand, as if disinterested in anything else. Theodore Nott, a boy who was quiet verbally, but didn't seem to care about letting the lid on his trunk slam shut, was already dressed. He wasn't acting like Blaise and ignoring them, but he wasn't engaging in conversation. Draco seemed to be monopolizing it, though he drew quiet when he saw Harry.

"Morning," Harry greeted the room. Blaise, to Harry's surprise, was the first to react. A lazy hand rose in a gesture of acknowledgment, dropping it back quickly. Nott nodded toward him, and Draco loudly returned the greeting. Crabbe and Goyle merely stared at him. Goyle looked rather confused, not sure what to make of him. Crabbe, on the other hand, gave off a slightly condescending vibe. Draco seemed to catch on to that, and to Harry's surprise, did something about it.

"Got a bit of dung under your nose, Crabbe?" Harry tried not to snicker, and instead pulled out an outfit. To his surprise, Draco seemed to have something to say about that, too. Harry noticed his eyes on the clothes as Harry laid them out to fish out his robes. When he found them, he was confused to find a patch on them that hadn't been there before. The Slytherin patch, complete with the silver serpent. It was morning, but despite that, the room was only lit by those green torches. Even so, it did nothing to hide the look on Draco's face.

"Those clothes are horrible."

"They were my cousin's," he admitted, not telling Draco that he sounded rude, mostly because he agreed with the blonde. "They're all I've ever gotten, except for my underpants." _And even then... _He was a bit embarrassed he'd made the admission.

"Don't forget, we have double potions today," Draco informed him. Harry left the room quietly. This was something he had been looking forward to, despite his bad experience with his head of house. Mainly, this was because Harry had been saved from trouble by the man two days prior. When he had realized he was not only late for his first transfiguration class, but had also somehow become separated from Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, Harry had panicked and gotten off on the first landing the staircase he was on would let him. The door he attempted to get into was locked and would not budge for anything.

Argus Filch, the school caretaker, had been upset when he stumbled upon Harry, claiming he was trying to get into the off-limits 3rd floor corridor. Harry hadn't intended to, but he supposed that was true. He had tried to argue his way out of the situation, until, at least, Professor Snape and Quirrell stumbled upon them.

Admittedly Professor Snape had been rather... verbally displeased, and had said any number of things about Harry's lack of intelligence, before and during the process of setting him on the right path. Furthermore, it had been a decidedly different tongue-lashing than he'd gotten while in the Housemaster's office that first night. While certainly not kind by any means, it was a bit less vehement. That evening, Harry had read the first three chapters of his potions book, intent on not seeming like a moron during his first potions lesson.

_Now, _Harry thought as he later pulled his clothes on after his shower, _I'm hungry. _His stomach had begun growling halfway through his shower, so that he was not at all annoyed at Draco's insistence that they hurry. Today, strangely, Draco was also intent on avoiding Crabbe and Goyle, who had come to the showers as Harry was leaving. He didn't argue. Harry didn't care much for the blonde's large friends. Today he and Draco managed to get to the Great Hall without any strange detours through the dungeons. Harry had become used to the cold of the dungeons, and always dressed just a bit warmer than many would, so on occasion the Great Hall was a bit _too _warm to him.

He entered the Great Hall beside Draco, who was acting rather pleasant this morning. His eyes had adjusted slowly, but the Great Hall was still a slight shock to his system, quite like being let out of his cupboard in the middle of the day after a week locked inside. It was a bit disconcerting because of that similarity. All the same, he also welcomed this descent from darkness into the light.

The muttering and pointing at him did not begin as it had the first two days of term, up until Draco had sneered down nearly every last person he caught doing it in the halls, seeming to find them disdainful in some manner. His loyalty touched Harry, but in a quiet way. Harry was still a bit cautious of the boy.

He enjoyed the smell and the sound of voices as he entered. The smell was of everything anyone could think of for breakfast, and not just traditional western breakfasts either. He saw an older oriental girl at one table attacking a bowl of a reddish looking soup that apparently people on all sides of her found offensive to the nose and a middle-eastern boy with a bowl of some type of beans. As for Harry, he looked forward to something a bit more western. When he settled down opposite of Marcus Flint—an older boy who ignored Harry whenever he saw him—he first procured from the plates and jugs lining the table a goblet of pumpkin juice. He had taken to the drink the very first night. Accepting some bacon from Draco, he passed it on and dove toward what he had been looking for since he had gotten to the table.

With a plate loaded with more food than should have been possible for him to eat, Harry sat to work on the lot. Draco began to chatter between mouthfuls about how excited he was for Potions class. Harry wasn't entirely sure he was personally excited, but he sure hoped he was prepared. And if he was to be honest, he thought maybe he'd enjoy it more than Charms or Astronomy, where he had felt like a dunce the whole time. He was, however, looking forward to trying to prove himself to his Housemaster. Not because of any feelings toward or against the man, but because the way he spoke of him as stupid was beginning to get irritating.

He heard, just on the edge of his hearing, a click. A row of thin windows just below the ceiling on each side of the hall tilted open, and all at once it was as if a deluge of owls rushed into the room, screeching and flapping. Feathers dropped everywhere, into food or onto the floor. Harry spotted Hedwig after a few moments, and noticed that as she soared toward him—he wondered who was sending him anything—she was being shadowed by a regal looking barn owl. The duo landed smack dab in the middle of the table, somehow not managing to land in anyone's food. The barn owl glared at Hedwig briefly, before turning his attention to Draco, who began to untie the letter from his leg immediately.

Harry had apparently not reacted quickly enough, and received a nip to his fingertip for the stall. His left hand brandished a bit of bacon, almost like a sword, which Hedwig greedily snapped up while he untied the letter from her leg. He quickly read it, a short and mostly grammatically correct letter from Hagrid requesting him to come down for tea that afternoon. Frankly, the idea of seeing his first real friend during his afternoon off sounded good enough, he didn't even bother to wait, and managed to dig up a bit of parchment from his bag, and scribble a quick and perhaps overly excited reply.

Harry sent Hedwig off again and was about to turn and talk to Draco about it when he noticed that Draco didn't seem entirely right. His face was drawn, distracted, down, and he looked at his bowl, picking through his porridge quietly. He didn't particularly act as if he was going to respond to the letter clutched in his hand, and the owl that sat in front of him looked irritated. Finally, Draco looked up at the bird.

"No reply," the Malfoy heir spat. The owl stared indignantly at him, then stretched his wings and left.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked him. He was not at all ready for the blonde's reply.

"Yes," the boy bit out, as if angry. "Just fine." Without another word, Draco let his spoon fall into his porridge with a plop, and left the table, leaving Harry alone at a table full of people. With nothing else to do, he went back to eating, dejectedly, his mind trying to understand what had just happened with his friend.

The dungeons were familiar territory already, so he was happy his first class was double-Potions. By then all Slytherins knew precisely how to get to Snape's office, storeroom or classroom. He had made sure to impress upon them the importance of timely appearances and burn the directions into their memory through sheer repetition, intermingled with implications about their intelligence. In all honesty, the man was repetitive to a fault about his insults.

The trip to his classroom was almost effortless once he passed the portrait guarding the Slytherin Commons. Judging by the footsteps he heard echoing around the dungeons, there was a host of people just behind him. Probably other Slytherins who knew their way 'round. He turned the corner to find Snape's classroom door wide open, and entered, taking in the sight for the first time. The walls were a tan color, but it was what was on them that was far, far more interesting. Lining shelves along each wall were jars that seemed to be filled with bits and pieces of animals. While disconcerting at _best _Harry found that by concentrating on the front of the room, he was distracted sufficiently.

Professor Snape sat behind his desk, hands folded over in front of him, looking positively like a black-eyed vulture, waiting for someone to drop dead so he could pick the bones. Harry saw with a start that there were only two other people in the room. Draco Malfoy, and Hermione, the bushy-haired girl from the train. They were set as far away from each other as possible in the room, Draco in the back right corner, and Hermione on the left end of the front row, a book open beside her and a bit of parchment with a quill resting on top waiting.

Without a moment's hesitation, and aware he had his head of House watching him, Harry crossed the back row, moving toward Draco, who only turned his head away from the boy. What was that prat's problem? Frustrated, he dropped into a seat beside Draco anyway. The blonde could act like a brat all he wanted, Harry would figure out what had him so upset eventually. Draco Malfoy was prone to bursting out in indignation when upset, it was only a matter of time.

As he sat down, Snape returned to whatever it was he was doing at his desk. Harry checked his watch which proclaimed it was five minutes until class began. The door opened wide almost as soon as he had made the note, and people began to fill the room. Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson seemed to be at the head of the group. And as his other Slytherin year-mates spilled in, Harry was astounded to see not one Gryffindor in the pack. Were they all lost? Mentally he defended them, thinking that Hogwarts should have maps for new students. It really was a mess.

With less than a minute to go, a group of giggling, muttering first years made way. Blaise Zabini was, strangely enough, silently walking amongst this crowd of Gryffindors. None seemed to notice him, of course. In fact, some were put off when he broke off from their crowd, and took the empty seat beside Harry, between he and Pansy.

"'lo" Harry muttered. Blaise answered in kind, and Harry returned to glancing around the room. There was one person whom he knew should be there that was missing. Ron Weasley. Harry turned his head sideways, to see that Draco seemed a little more relaxed, and was staring down at his open book—Harry rapidly opened his—calmly. "Draco," he tried. This time the boy looked up at him, no hostility, nothing. "'m going down to Hagrid's after class today. Come with me?" The blonde seemed to weigh his options for a moment, then let out a sigh.

"Alright."

"That will be five points from Gryffindor."

These were the first words Harry heard Professor Snape speak in his potions class. Harry turned his attention to Snape and followed his gaze to see Ron Weasley entering the room, a minute late with his books in his arms, his bag ripped and hanging from his shoulders oddly. The boy grew intensely red, but didn't respond to the potions professor, and scrambled to a seat beside a larger portly boy, who seemed cowed by Professor Snape.

"In the future I expect to see everyone on time." Without a further comment on the tardiness, Professor Snape drew a sheet of parchment—which he didn't glance at—and called roll. Not a single person was missing, and Professor Snape rolled through each and every one of them until he drew to Harry's. Like the small excitable Charm's professor, Flitwick, Snape stopped on his name. But there was no excitement in his voice. "Ah yes, Mr. Potter. I do trust you and Mr. Malfoy aren't thinking of treating us to anymore of your squabbling today."

Harry did not answer. He did not think that the professor wanted anything more than to make a snide comment, and go on. Harry was also shocked to find that even when he came to Ron's name, he didn't say a thing about anyone. Ron seemed to find this immensely funny too, as he turned his head back toward the Slytherins with a slight sneer. A sneer aimed directly toward Harry and Draco. Harry wondered if he was one of those evil Slytherins now.

"Without the use of silly incantations or you brandishing your wands about like a bunch of infantile baboons with a stick, I imagine there will be few in this room who have what it takes to excel at this class." Ah, at least this time there was a wide-spread and all-encompassing insult in his words, not directed at Harry or anyone else in particular. "Should there be, amongst the crowd of droll imbeciles in this school, some of you with the keen mind that is required, I can teach you true, undeniable greatness, to fend off the gaze of Death when he most wants to watch you, to make strong parts of you that are weak, to mix with the blood coursing through your veins liquids that will make you momentarily, more than Wizard."

Well, that had been melodramatic to say the least... but even so... The words held a certain tinge of appeal, the whisper of glory. The last was muted to say the least towards Harry, who had been shying away from the whispers and mutterings about him as best he cold. Harry was shocked to find he was hanging on Professor Snape's every word. He was not the only one. Draco was transfixed beside him.

Professor Snape's eyes matched his. Harry's went wide, he was caught in that moment, clearly having paid attention, but now open to the professor's scrutiny, or to being ignored completely. He simply could not have predicted what happened next.

"Potter, where would you find a bezoar?" Harry blinked. A bezoar... the name was familiar. A hand shot up in the front row, and he saw Hermione bouncing in her seat to reply. The bezoar was mentioned in passing in the first paragraph of chapter one.

"The stomach of a goat, sir," he replied, quietly. Professor Snape drew taller, and spoke again.

"What, Potter, is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?" The question was actually easier than the last, and almost asinine. In the opening paragraph, again, he could clearly remember the two names. Hermione waved her hand insistently.

"There is none, they're the same plant, sir." The potions master paused, as if to ask another question, and Harry saw a couple of emotions pass across his face.

"Five points for Slytherin," the man announced, quietly, almost as if lamenting something, and then he walked back toward his desk. As Harry sat, dumbfounded, he hard a loud snort from the front row, and looked down to see Snape turning on his heel, his coal dark eyes coming to rest on Ron Weasley.

"And what, Mr. Weasley, would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hermione's hand shot up again, and Snape snapped, "Put your hand down, you foolish girl." The hand vanished from sight. Ron stared defiantly at him for several seconds before shaking his head. "Well, I see some people see no reason to open their school books. I'll have to see to it that I assign plenty of homework in an effort to counter this bad habit over the semester." A couple of dark mutterings passed from Millicent Bulstrode to whoever sat beside her.

"Pair up," spat the potions master. Harry's eyes turned instantly on Draco, who matched his with a small, out of place smile. It was out of place solely because it was not a boisterous look at all. The blonde pulled his cauldron out from under their table and sat it between them over one of the burners. "Open to page eight, where you will find a recipe and instructions for a boil cure potion. All of the ingredients are in your standard kits. Get to work."

They agreed to split the ingredient use 50/50 between their kits, and set to work. Professor Snape began immediately what Harry would become used to as years passed. He walked up and down the rows, between tables, long cloak trailing behind him as he watched each pair begin the work, muttering the occasional reprimand, before sitting down for five minutes and starting it all over. Harry and Draco got a slow but clean start, once the fire got going.

As Draco crushed up some sort of snake's fang, he began the stirring, as dictated in the book. Strangely enough, Snape almost never seemed to make it to the pair, at least not at first. Just as the potion was reaching its midpoint, and Harry was taking the cauldron off the fire to add the porcupine quills, Professor Snape finally rounded on them. He placed his face dangerously close to the still steaming cauldron, and came up, face as neutral as ever.

"Pay attention," he called. "Notice how the stewed slugs in Mr. Malfoy's cauldron have not polluted, but instead been assimilated into the brew? Excellent work Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter." The last was said with more than a little hesitation, and Harry got the feeling again that there was something beyond normal in the way that the professor felt about him. Before Snape could recover from or acknowledge somehow, this near-stutter, there was a loud hiss, and a scream. The crowd was thick, blocking his view, but the portly boy from before, Neville Longbottom, was clutching his face and screaming. Ron and Hermione were scrambling back from the boy, as was Seamus Finnigan, the short Irishman.

Snape spun on spot and began barking out insults and orders, Harry just bent his head back over the cauldron and added the porcupine quills.

Their cauldron did not explode.

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**A/N**: It has absolutely no baring on this particular story, but if Harry was not a Seeker, what position would you like to see him playing?


	4. Chapter Four: Rock Cakes, Twins and

**Disclaimer**: I make no money off of this, and likely will gain no recognition, either, therefor I do not claim anything as my own, precisely.

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**Rock Cakes, Twins and Astronomy**

_Chapter 4_

It was nearing three PM when he and Draco stepped out of the doors of the Great Hall. "I swear, if you call him an oaf or anything else mean, our cauldron will explode during the next Potions class." Harry was not entirely aware of where that came from. Perhaps it was the after-class burst of energy, or the strange feeling that Professor Snape's seemingly accidental praise had left boiling in his chest, but Harry had a moment of determination. Draco Malfoy had been, since Harry's sorting, trying, and for the most part, succeeding at proving he was not a complete prat.

As the pair trailed away from the great wooden doors protecting Hogwarts, Harry hoped sincerely that this feeling was right, that Draco wasn't a prat. Though things had been chaotic, part of him was unable to picture what his first week at Hogwarts would have been like without the blonde. One time he had nearly fallen clean off of the fourth-floor staircase as it shifted in an unexpected manner. Had he been climbing along by himself, distracted as he was, he would have taken a tumble over the edge.

He turned to face the blonde boy, gauging his reaction to the half-threat-half-promise. To his credit, in a surprising display of maturity, his fellow first year seemed to be trying to not react to it. For the first time all day, Harry's nerves were cut cleanly in twine, and he laughed. The day he saw his roommate completely demure in the face of a statement like that would be the day that Harry would believe the sun was falling.

As the pair reached the door, Harry paused. Sitting right outside of it were a pair of mud covered galoshes, and a crossbow. There were no bolts in sight, but then again, Harry didn't know why the bow was there at all. Curious despite himself, Harry made note to ask. Draco stopped short of the door, his eyes landing on the mess, and forced Harry to turn and look at him. Comically, Draco actually seemed a bit _nervous. _After all, Hagrid was a very large man and Draco had said a rude thing or two about him.

Harry doubted the Groundskeeper knew or cared though.

The Slytherins paused on the doorstep as Harry knocked. Almost instantly there came a deep series of barks. Harry thought Hagrid might have offhandedly mentioned a dog, but his calls to try to quiet "Fang" were a bit unnerving. Draco was beside himself at the name, which had Harry laughing. It was going to be sad if he found out his mate could be so easily upset. Finally the door opened wide. Draco seemed to tighten up beside him as he was visually reintroduced to the large, bearded man.

"Well there," Hagrid said. "Malfoy, right? Draco Malfoy?" Draco nodded, his face harsh and apprehensive. Harry gave an exasperated sigh, but Hagrid's face lit up and the door opened wider, a large hand holding onto the leather collar of a big black boarhound. "Good to see Harry's got a friend, then!" Hagrid's booming voice cheered up, but Draco didn't relax beside him. "In you get!" Harry took hold of the blonde's hand and jerked his rigid form into the hut. As soon as the door shut two things happened. His fellow Slytherin's eyes went wide, taking in the meat hanging from the ceilings, the huge, not-too-clean looking bed, and Hagrid let go of Fang. The dog rushed Draco, who threw up his arms, crying out dramatically.

"He's trying to kill m—" Draco was cut off as Fang set to licking the boy, lovingly, tail wagging hard enough to shake his rear end. Harry laughed, happily. There was a thump as Fang leapt aside. Instead of letting Harry help him up, the blonde swatted him away when he tried, and pushed to his feet, indignant. It was only with further prodding from Harry, silently, that Draco didn't run off.

Moments later Hagrid dropped a plate of rock cakes onto the table in front of them and a few oversized mugs of tea. What looked like badly made mugs, and would well have been for Hagrid, were nigh on pails for Harry and Draco, who carefully sipped at the scalding, strong tea, unable to resist loading it with sugar shortly after. When the three at the table had settled, Harry looked around.

Fang was lying to Hagrid's right, looking up at his owner who was wiping tea from his thick, wild beard, and looking thoroughly excited. Draco's eyes continued to dart nervously around, and he was drinking in extremely small sips from the cups, which was hilarious to see due to the size of the cups. Finally, without a warning, Hagrid spoke again.

"So, tell me about your first week."

"It's been... different," Harry said, quietly. "Classes are interesting, right?" He glanced back at Draco, who after a moment of silence, nodded. "But I don't reckon Professor Snape likes me much."

"That's not true, I'm sure," Hagrid tried to comfort him. Draco finally spoke.

"N-No, I think he's right. He almost swallowed his tongue when he praised our potion in class today." Hagrid furrowed his brows. "Not that there was anything wrong with it. Not with the two of us brewing." Harry rolled his eyes at the not-so-vague hint of pretentious pride in his voice.

"I'll be honest with you," he said, leaning forward in what Harry had come to think of as a 'Hagrid Whisper'. In other words, he was speaking somewhere near normal volume. "Everyone says Professor Snape favors the Slytherins a bit, never heard anyone say he was unfair to one before. Either way, he's your professor. Best thing you can do is try to have faith."

Harry's eyes strayed down to the table as Hagrid spoke, and he took in the sight of the news article clipped in front of him.

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

_"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._

Harry looked up from it shortly after.

"Hagrid! This article... that was the same day we were there, on my birthday." Hagrid only nodded a bit absentmindedly, offering the pair of them another rock cake, as if he refused to really acknowledge the coincidence. This made Harry suspect it was no coincidence at all. Furthermore, the vault had been emptied that day. Who would all but empty their vault out in one day, unless of course they knew someone might try to steal it, or there was very little in it.

Harry remembered the small, oddly shaped package Hagrid had withdrawn.

_Or both, _he thought, suddenly.

The rest of the admittedly short tea time passed with talks of their first week, in which Draco finally got involved. It was actually an interesting insight into his housemate when Draco spoke of what it was like to be in the Hogwarts House he had grown up hearing about. He seemed unwilling to speak of his parents or home life in general, but as it related to what he knew about Hogwarts, he was able to speak about it. His father had been Slytherin, just as he was now. It was the same rough pride as before, but now it was tempered with something. It almost sounded like defiance.

Hagrid didn't comment on it.

When the pair left for the castle, robe pockets lined with rock cakes that their jaws were too sore to try to eat, they heard a noise. Harry spotted the Weasley twins, Fred and George, sneaking out of the forest with a tall, dark-skinned boy with wild hair quick on their tail. He turned back toward the castle, and saw that Draco had heard.

"Don't look back," he said. "I want them to think we don't know they're behind us."

"Steady on, Lee," one of the twins called, sounding as if he was about to burst into laughter.

"You shove it, you," the other boy called, loudly. "Last time I'll test your neutralizing potion. If you're going to take me into the forest and get me pissed, you better know what you're doing next time." Harry snickered a bit without turning. The older Gryffindor was drunk. "Stop laughing, Fred, or I swear... you know what will happen if Angelina catches me this way. She'll write my parents and Merlin only knows what they'll do."

The twins just laughed. Beside him, Draco had a quiet, half-smile on his face as he and Harry stepped into the castle.

"I'm heading for dinner," Draco said. "Coming?"

"I'll be along in a moment," Harry said, and the blonde hesitated before leaving him there in the entrance hall. He ducked back into a corner, the empty entrance hall silent. When he heard the trio walk in, he stepped out from his corner, and smiled. "Hi there," he said. "Ron's brothers, Fred and George right? And you're Lee?"

The twins shared a quick look with each other, and Lee nodded.

"I was wondering if I could ask you for some help," he said, smiling.

"Merlin's beard," one twin said.

"Less than a full week and he's got the 'Slytherin Smirk' downpat," the other finished. "It's wicked." Harry felt the smile widen. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"See, Ron was my friend while we were on the train to school. The minute I got sorted into Slytherin though, he started," Harry glanced at the twins, and gave a shrug, "he started being a real prat. I was hoping you could help me get him back." The twins brightened up.

"We have a couple of ideas," one started.

"Not all of them strictly kind," the other finished.

"So do I," Harry countered. "It's just that I don't know how to do any of it. If I send you an owl later would that be alright?" One of them nodded, and that was when Harry noticed that Lee was looking more and more nervous. "Alright then, I'll see you around." Harry put a bit of acting on. He acted as if he was about to turn away, and then stopped, double taking quickly, his eyes locking onto an empty spot right behind Lee. "Oh, hi Angelina!" he chimed in, happily.

Lee Jordan jumped, his eyes wide, and turned around. The twins followed suit leisurely. By the time the three of them had turned back, Harry was halfway to the Great Hall. He could hear Lee's curses from where he was, and enjoyed being called a 'slimy snake, dirty rat bastard' and the like. Iit was the matching smirks and gleaming eyes of the Weasley twins that he wasn't privy to.

The next morning he was met with an notice on the bulletin board that normally would have made him sigh exasperatedly. Slytherins and Gryffindors had flying lessons in the mornings, starting Thursday. With the promise of only having to deal with Ron's snickers in Potions, he had resigned himself to having less of a chance to get back at him. Now that he had more time... and had enlisted the Weasley twins, Harry was without a doubt excited.

It seemed that these announcements had sparked something in every House, because the first year as a whole was quickly swept up in talk of flying, and Quidditch. Harry took most of what people said as exaggeration, especially Draco's stories of dodging muggle helicopters as a child. Ludicrous as all of it seemed, it did do something for him. When the rules of Quidditch were finally explained to him, it seemed to light something in him. He wanted to see a game _so badly. _Badly enough that he sneaked to the library with the intent on checking out Quidditch Through The Ages.

He had been nearly out of the library when the sound of crying met his ears. He carefully sneaked through the stacks of books, until he found a table hidden in a back corner. He recognized Hermione from the large bushy hair even before he could see anything else. She had a stack of books in front of her, yet was not reading any of them. Her face was buried in her hands miserably, and she was trying hard to stifle sobs.

His heartstrings successfully tugged upon, Harry approached equally quietly, and sat down on the other side of the table. She didn't hear him until he was already sat down. Her eyes opened wide, and she blushed. Sniffling as she wiped at her eyes, Hermione spoke.

"Oh, hi Harry."

"Hermione," he said. After a pause, he continued. "What's wrong? Has Weasley been being a prat to you? Neville let something slip about it when I went to see him in the Hospital Wing." Harry corrected himself. "Ron, I mean." _Somehow, _he thought, setting the book he had checked out down, _it feels like I should call him Ron. _

"Forget it," she said, trying to sound dismissive. The hurt in her voice was clearly emphasized though, and undermined the attempt. "It's nothing."

"No, it's not. What did he do?"

"He's just so full of himself sometimes. Calling me a know-it-all half of the time and then remarking that I must not know _everything _because I didn't know how Quidditch was played. It shouldn't be a big deal, but he's just _mean _sometimes." Harry nodded.

"Yeah," he replied. "He is."

"I'm sorry, you know, Harry." Harry looked up at her, smiling but puzzled.

"About what?" The brown-haired girl wiped at her eyes one more time and then reached a hand across the table to rest on his.

"Everyone hears about how he talks about you and Malfoy," she said. "You two seemed to be getting on so well on the train... and now..." Harry nodded. Then, with a real smile on his face, he turned his hand over to grip hers.

"Well, I enlisted some help from people who know him pretty well. I was going to get back at him for being a prat during Potions and at meals. But now I'll have to find a way to get back at him for being a jerk to a friend." She looked simultaneously torn between horror at the idea that Harry was up to something, and flushing at being called his friend. "It's true. You could be my friend, if you want to be, at least." She nodded lightly.

"Of course."

"So what's all this?" he asked her, gesturing to a pile of four or five books, two of them more easily classified as large tomes. "And how do you intend to get them back to your dormitories?"

"I can charm them to float," she told him, proudly. "But it's mostly just some light reading." There didn't seem to be anything light about the stack, the top of which was 'Hogwarts: A History.' Harry didn't comment on that. Instead, unbidden, a thought came to his mind.

"Could I ask you a favor?" he started, quietly. "You said... there were mentions of me in some books." She nodded, eagerly. "I... I don't know anything about my family or what happened to them... I was wondering if you could help me find out." The Gryffindor stood, all signs of being upset gone. Though Harry had asked for himself, he felt a momentary sense of relief that the request had distracted her. He really did find the girl endearing. There were ways in which she was like a female Draco that could be more easily stood. Lacking his other friend's occasional knack for being nasty to others for absolutely no reason, she shared an innate pride in what she did. In neither Hermione or Draco did Harry find this to be a bad thing, though he could understand how it would get annoying very quickly to someone who didn't try to get to know them.

Allowing the girl to lead him into a section of Defense, he found himself walking out of the library ten minutes later, two books in his arms and six in his bag, counting the one on Quidditch. She had even marked out the sections where he was mentioned at any length in each of them, amiably splitting her attention between that and chatting with Harry about nothing in particular in the process. All in all, Harry felt simultaneously at ease and loaded up as he headed toward the Slytherin commons. Feeling a bit put off his dinner, he descended into the dungeons. The commons were empty when he entered, and his dorm, too.

While not one for sleeping early, he had spent the day failing to comprehend a bit of reading McGonagall had assigned to them, and he had Astronomy in a few hours. Harry got into his bed without bothering to change and drew the curtains shut around him. His favorite subjects were fast becoming Transfigurations and Charms. Mostly because they challenged him, when so far, Potions had not. He and Draco had made quick and simple work of the potion for a simple reason: It required opening your eyes and following instructions. If there was one thing that his life at the Dursleys had taught him, it was how to do that.

He settled back against the headboard with Modern Magical History balanced on his legs. He opened to the marked page and lit his wand.

_Harry James Potter, known colloquially as The-Boy-Who-Lived defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in a manner unknown. Many theories exist, some of the more wild ones suggesting that The-Boy-Who-Lived was channeling the spirit of his recently departed father. This theory was born by nothing more than a comment James Potter had made to the press in an angry haze a year before, stating that 'Death would not hold' him should his family be in danger. _

_The exact events of that Halloween night are unknown. James Potter and Lily Potter were famed for their fighting during the first war, often assisting the Auror's office, or reportedly fighting with the underground organization The Order Of The Phoenix. Lily Potter spent a brief time studying Alchemy under famed Alchemists Albus Dumbledore and Pernelle Flamel. Unfortunately for what talent she may have had—and by all reports this was a woman of amazing skill—a year later, she and her husband were murdered personally by the Dark Lord on 31 October 1989. James Potter was found dead in the entrance way, signs of a duel around him. Lily Potter was found to the side of her young son's crib. _

_The only known person to have survived the Killing Curse that fell his parents, The-Boy-Who-Lived was taken by a family friend at the instructions of Albus Dumbledore out of the Wizarding World, for fear of his safety. Reports circulated immediately of a wild, lightning bolt shaped scar, and a defeated Dark Lord. A body that many claim belonged to Lord Voldemort was excavated from the rubble of the nursery, but shortly later vanished from the site without a trace and has not been found since. _

_Unfortunately, if anyone knows anything more about that night, it is information not being freely shared. For more information on nefarious crimes committed using the Killing Curse, please turn to chapter thirteen. _

Harry did not turn to chapter thirteen. In fact, feeling a bit as if asking Hermione about this was the worst thing ever, he put the book on his bedside table, removed his glasses, and turned his body on its side to go to sleep.

Angrily, he pulled himself out of bed when Draco's half-yells of his name forced him to finally do so. Dressed already and not caring too much about how proper it was—he was forced to ignore Draco's little lecture on dress—he slipped on his trainers and made his way toward the Astronomy Tower without engaging anyone in conversation. The blonde seemed to hang back, as if put off by Harry not taking his advice, so Harry walked in silence next to Blaise, who was as strange as ever. He was like a one man army, always walking from point A to point B as if he was completely alone and that was _fine. _

It was in some ways harder to stand then Draco's boasting.

Class passed mostly in silence. Star charts, studying the sky, these were on the agenda for the night. For Harry, though, he was a million miles away. Or perhaps it was better to say ten years away. Those short paragraphs had drastically altered his opinion about a lot of things, but it had taught him a few things he didn't know. His parents had fought Voldemort, sometimes helping the Ministry, sometimes not. His mother had been studying to be an Alchemist, though Harry was truthfully not entirely sure what that was, and his father was a man very dedicated to his family.

While at the same time disturbing, it drove a warm feeling through him when he thought about it. He may never know them, but at least he knew he came from good people. What and who they were were important to him, but now... now it was going to be about who and what he was. Harry didn't know the answer to these questions and found himself wishing to find them. His distraction on the tower earned him a well placed elbow from Draco as their professor approached, and he bent his head over his star charts.

"What in the bloody hell has gotten into you?" the blonde whispered.

"I could ask you the same," Harry replied.

"What does that mean?" Draco called, suddenly indignant and on guard.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter! Is there something important you care to share with the class?"

"No," Harry answered, gulping a bit despite himself. He adjusted his robes. "Sorry Professor."

"As well you should be. Two points from Slytherin. You will pay attention in my class, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, or you'll find yourself in detention." The professor waited with a challenging glare, and then when neither spoke, left.

"Fine, be like that," Draco whispered. Harry sighed exasperatedly, and fought the urge to strangle the boy. Tomorrow was going to be stressful enough without this new mopey Draco he had come to know that would fly off the handle at little notice. Harry was going to have to figure out what was going on before it got much worse.

After class ended, Harry went back to the dungeons with the rest of them. Again, Draco hung back, and this time when Harry turned back, he noticed two things. The boy was glaring at the two hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle in front of him, who were in turn glaring at Harry, who turned back. Blaise, beside him, gave him a knowing look, and finally spoke.

"His father has them spying on him," the boy whispered. "He doesn't like Draco talking to you." Confused, Harry nodded his thanks. "My parents overheard his talking about it." Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Well, do you... know why?" The dark skinned boy looked up at him with appraising eyes, and Harry watched as the look turned to disbelief and then pity.

"I could get in trouble for telling you," he said quietly. "But I stand to lose nothing and gain something."

"Gain what?" Harry asked, finding himself unable to hold back suspicion. Blaise was far too mysterious a character to not wonder what kind of motives ran through his head. Far too quiet and far too keen to keep to himself. Harry instantly felt guilty at the answer.

"Hopefully a friend. I'll meet you in the Trophy Room at Midnight tomorrow." The boy stepped up his pace and walked away more quickly, leaving Harry alone to walk under the gaze of the two hulking first years that seemed to have an innate dislike of him. He shouldered his bag, gave Blaise a few seconds' head start, and sped up himself.

* * *

A/N: A signficantly longer Author's Note this time. There are a couple of things I'd like to get off my chest here about this story as it moves from a story into a series and the series progresses through the years. There will be sex, and it will happen between characters under the age of eighteen. Why? Because let's be realistic: IT HAPPENS. There will be NO Ron bashing, past what the story itself might call for. Why? Because for the vast majority of fanfics using Ron or Hermione bashing, all I ever see for reasoning is a bunch of whiny folk whose favorite Ship was too hard for them to write without it. Finally, I am in the market for a beta reader, maybe a britpicker. Drop me a PM on this site's messaging system if interested.


	5. Chapter Five: Midnight Rendezvous

**Disclaimer**: I make no money off of this, and likely will gain no recognition, either, therefor I do not claim anything as my own, precisely.

* * *

**Midnight Rendezvous**

_Chapter 5_

Harry walked into breakfast the next morning not with Draco, but with Blaise. When he woke, Draco had already left. Crabbe and Goyle were hurrying out of the room when he got up, and it was Nott and Blaise and Harry who were left. Nott, not to seem too friendly, nodded his head cooly and left the room. Blaise didn't hint at what he was going to tell Harry when he tried to goad the other Slytherin into it.

When Harry walked into the Great Hall he was distracted by Fred and George waving at him from Gryffindor table, which was closest to the doors. Blaise walked on though Harry stopped, apparently content to be his usual one-man-army sort of self. Harry saw Ron turn, following the twins' sight, but the boy only glared when he saw Harry. The twins, behind Ron's back, nodded emphatically to signal him.

"Say Ron," he said, moving closer. "How are you feeling today?" He saw Fred pocket an empty potions' vial, George slip his wand away, clearly they had only just done their part. Last minute plans? The thoughts were ripped form his head as Ron stopped scowling, his face became serene—save for his angry, angry eyes—and he stood up. In a voice a bit higher than normal, he sang. With each passing line his voice became louder and louder.

"_I feel pretty  
Oh so pretty  
I feel pretty and witty and gay!" _

The last note was hit in a high soprano, far higher than normal. By this time the twins were up on their feet and clapping excitedly. Harry, grinning despite himself, glanced at the staff table.

"_And I pity _

_any girl who isn't me today!" _

The staff table was in silent chaos. McGonagall was standing up, ready to leave the dais as Ron's voice got louder and higher so that most of the Great Hall was listening. Snape was trying to ignore the whole business, Quirrell acted oblivious, but Professor Dumbledore was laughing quietly. Even Professor Sprout seemed to be enjoying the performance, though she had the good graces to look embarrassed about it.

"_I feel charming_

_Oh so charming_

_It's alarming how charming I feel._

_And so pretty_

_That I hardly can believe I'm real!_

_See that pretty girl in that mirror there!" _

Several Gryffindors, including the twins, Lee and a pair of older girls that hung out with Fred and George chimed in in deep voices.

"_What mirror where?"_ This seemed to be the last straw for McGonagall as she stomped down the teacher's dais.

"_Who can that attractive girl beeeeee?"_ Harry was in hysterics when suddenly Ron stopped singing, opened his mouth and screeched.

"**Oh, Draco, Draco, marry me!'** On the last word his voice seemed to return to normal and the look of a lovesick teenage girl vanished. McGonagall was on them at that point. Ron was glaring nastily at Harry and had drawn his wand. Harry briefly saw Draco's grinning face at the Slytherin table before the twins stood up and grabbed their brother by the shoulders.

"Now now, Ronnikins, it was us what did it," George, or at least he thought it was George intoned. McGonagall interrupted. She turned on her heel to face Harry, For a moment a look of realization lit her face, but it was quickly smothered.

"Mr. Potter, did you have anything to do with this?" Fred widened his eyes a bit, as if faking fear. Harry on the other hand did what they had advised him to do. He made his eyes nice and wide himself.

"Of course not, Professor," he intoned, innocently. Harry raised his hands as if to say they were utterly clean. "I wouldn't know how to do any of that!" That much, at least, was honest. Though he was going to send Fred and George a letter begging them to teach him, that was for sure. McGonagall looked furious, as if she knew well he was lying but _couldn't prove it. _

And that was true.

"Five points from Slytherin for loitering! Misters Weasley, to my office, immediately," she said to the twins. "And you," the Transfiguration professor pointed at Hermione who was only a couple of seats down, looking mortified. "Take Mr. Weasley to the Hospital Wing immediately if he starts singing again. I simply don't think I can take another verse!" Ron turned bright red, his rage fading into embarrassment, and Harry turned to walk away from the table.

"Wait," Harry paused, but did not turn back. "Don't think that I will never catch you, Mr. Potter. I was a match for your father, and that's saying something." Harry tilted his head, curiously, turning back.

"My father, Professor?" The harsh woman had a small, very muted smile on her face. None of the Gryffindors could see it from their angle, but Harry could.

"I simply can't imagine the number of detentions you will be given in your career here at Hogwarts if you follow in his footsteps." She turned away without anymore clarification and left Harry with his thoughts as he walked back to Slytherin table. Once there he sat down between a pair of fourth year girls who didn't seem to pay him any attention as Draco was surrounded by Crabbe and Goyle.

Breakfast tasted sweet, despite the lost five points. For once, no one glared or glowered at him, either.

The grass of the courtyard swayed in a slight breeze, which the flying instructor didn't seem all too happy about. She occasionally raised a half-scowling look to the clouds in the sky as the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors began to gather. It was an uneasy quiet between the two groups. They didn't intermingle at all, and on both sides there was the exchanging of glares and flaring nostrils. The only people other than Harry who didn't seem to be involved in it were Hermione and Neville and Blaise and Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin girl who had been nice to Harry on more than one occasion.

The woman spoke only after people had stopped arriving.

"I am Madam Hooch, I am the instructor of flying and the Quidditch Referee here at Hogwarts. My job here is simple. Though, now that I say that I expect that the lot of you will be working hard to prove me wrong." She took a breath and then gestured to the broomsticks neatly aligned in two rows. "Step up to a broomstick." The order was quick, concise and immediately followed. There was something strange about her, other than the yellow eyes that looked like a hawk. Perhaps it was just that strange mixture of confidence that was a lot like Professor McGonagall's without the terse disapproval that the Transfiguration teacher always showed.

The afternoon light shone down on the back of Harry's neck as he stepped up. At her next instructions he held his hand out over the broom. It was old and had twigs at the end sticking at odd angles at the end.

"Up," he commanded the broom. With a nice solid thud the wood slammed into the palm of his right hand which closed around it almost as if by its own accord. Down the way, Draco and Blaise had after a try or two, managed to get hold of their broom. Beside him, Daphne Greengrass was glaring down at hers, as if it was mocking her. Hermione, across from Blaise, could barely get hers to jerk on the ground.

A loud groan showed Harry that a red-faced Ron had been hit in the nose with his. After several seconds of staring bemused, Harry watched the rest of the crowd get hold of their brooms. At Madam Hooch's instructions, he mounted the broom and gripped it as if he were going to fly, moving his hands as necessary to hold where she told them. Draco was berated for gripping incorrectly down the line, and let out an indignant stream of profanities that Madam Hooch seemed to ignore.

"Alright," she said. "When I blow my whistle kick off of the ground hard. Hover for three seconds, then lean forward and carefully land." She waited for a moment, and then lifted the whistle in her hand. "Three-Two..." There was a gasp from the Gryffindor side, and Harry saw that Neville had jumped the gun.

The portly Gryffindor hovered above the ground a few inches and for a moment Madam Hooch seemed mutedly proud and began to verbally try to guide him back to the ground. Almost the very moment she spoke though, the broom began to buck and shake, shooting up into the sky. The path was erratic and dangerous. The flying instructor seemed to simultaneously realize Neville wasn't in control and at the same time not know what to do. Something kicked in Harry's gut. He kicked off hard and almost without thinking aimed himself along the boy's general path.

The broom responded to his intentions and the grip of his hands. It was amazing, it was like he was moving himself almost with thought alone, like he was, in essence, moving with magic. That _was_ what he was doing.

"Mr. Potter," screeched Madam Hooch. By the time he heard her though, he was already at Neville, who seemed to be having a rough time of keeping hold of the broom. He reached up and held tight to the end of Neville's broom that was suddenly heading for the wall of the courtyard. The woman on the ground continued to babble as the next second passed and then Harry felt as if his arm was nearly jerked out of socket. His legs and left hand held tight to the broom as it spun upside down, and then he was turning them away from the wall in a panic. Neville was hanging by his robes from Harry's right hand as he strained to keep hold. Looking down—or up—he saw that the ground was not far beneath Neville's feet, and dropped the boy. Neville rolled, and Harry did too, in mid air, so that he was upright as he brought himself to a rocky landing on the grass. He landed almost where he'd begin, accidentally bumping into Daphne, for which he apologized profusely. Madam Hooch looked up from where she stood by a dazed by uninjured Neville.

"Mr. Potter," Harry held his breath, waiting for the order of detention or to just get out of her sight. He also half expected to be kicked straight out of Hogwarts. "Five points for Slytherin. But I'll have to ask you not to take such risks in the future." Harry felt the tension in his neck lessen a bit, though his arm still hurt, and now that he was calming down, it hurt badly. The girl at his side raised an eyebrow to him as she noticed him rubbing it.

"Madam Hooch," the witch said, suddenly. "Harry's hurt his arm." Daphne's eyes rested on him after she spoke. A strange sense of victory seemed to dance into her eyes, but it was tempered by a challenge, as if daring him to argue. He only winced. "May I take him to the Hospital?"

"Yes, yes, please do. I dare say Mr. Potter can do with missing a lesson, anyway." He flushed and started to walk away when Daphne seized him by his good arm and lead him away. The hospital wing was a ways away so he was left to walk alongside her as his right arm continued to hurt worse.

"Think it's broken?" she asked.

"No," he said, a bit of strain showing in his voice. "But it hurts, and it's... definitely..." he didn't know what to say. She stopped then, and examined him, when he could see her face again, it was pale.

"Dislocated," she said, quietly. "And no wonder, that Gryffindor wasn't exactly slim."

"Neville's a good guy. He just seems to have really bad luck." Harry defended his friend as carefully as he could, but his mind was starting to focus on the pain above all else. Discussion wasn't exactly rampant for the rest of the walk. When the doors to the hospital wing opened, Madam Pomfrey caught them coming in. She frowned when her eyes landed on him and lead him to the nearest bed.

"Well, goodbye Harry, see you at dinner." Harry looked up at Daphne and saw with some confusion that she was smiling at him, half deviously. Merlin, that girl was hard to get a read on.

"Yeah, thanks," he managed before Madam Pomfrey turned his head to look at her and began questioning him as to what happened. When he turned back Daphne was gone and Harry was left wondering about the meaning of that look in her brown eyes. Was she up to something, maybe? Slytherins were supposed to be plotters.

He was still sore that evening, though considerably less so. He sat in a dark corner of the Slytherin common room by himself. A couple of first years were lounging by the fire but the vast majority of the room was full of older students. For that reason, he sat back in the corner as he had since he'd started Hogwarts. He had his nose buried in The Rise And Fall of the Dark Arts, now reading the section dedicated to Lord Voldemort's reign. He had read the bit on himself but gotten no new information for the effort. All it had done was put his stomach in knots. Blaise Zabini wandered out of the common room as Harry turned a page. It was a bit before curfew and still some good time before he was to meet Blaise himself. He wondered where the boy would hide until then.

As the people began to drift out of the common, occasionally with a glare his way, Harry watched the time pass slowly by. Finally he was the only one left and it was approaching half an hour until he was supposed to meet Blaise. He stood up, leaving the book on the table. With a look around the common, he left. The portrait of Godfrey the Fierce didn't even bother to speak at him as he shut the portrait door. Apparently the Slytherin guardian kept his students' secrets.

Hogwarts halls were deserted, even after he climbed out of the dungeons. To make is way to the third floor and thus the trophy room he wold have to hurry through the halls and climb from the dungeons to the third floor without getting caught. With the series of ghosts that roamed Hogwarts, this could prove to be a difficult task. He didn't even want to think of what the Bloody Baron would do or say if the ghastly ghost caught him out of the commons after hours.

He definitely could hear Peeves somewhere above him as he finally got to the ever-shifting staircases. He had to hope that Peeves wasn't on the same floor, and if he was, that he didn't hear him. Keeping low, he listened intently, waiting for one of the portaits lining almost every wall to call him out. Those few that weren't snoring in their frames didn't seem to pay him any attention. Thankful, Harry continued climbing.

It was a few minutes before he finally managed to sneak into the trophy room and as he let the door carefully shut behind him. Lining the walls were cases made of glass and crystal all holding silver and gold cups, shields, plates, all sorts of different awards. Nervous as he was Harry passed up the opportunity to look at any of them and instead brought his eyes to rest on the dark form of Blaise Zabini. Blaise was well built, sharp eyed and for his age very solitary.

Harry liked him. The first night he had seen Blaise the boy seemed unnerving but he had never been unkind. Uninterested sometimes, but not unkind. Tonight he was neither.

"No one followed you?" he asked quickly. Suddenly Blaise was a different person. Standing straight, he walked to the other side of the trophy room to stand beside a wall of cases marked 'House Cups.'

"No, but it's possible Peeves saw me," Harry admitted quietly. Blaise visibly relaxed: Peeves was many things, but the teachers' watchdog wasn't one of them. "What was it you needed to tell me?"

"Harry," he said quietly, "it's about Draco's parents." A little stupefied, Harry stepped closer. "And the parents of a lot of our housemates." Harry nodded for him to continue, oblivious to what he was about to hear.

"Draco's parents, Crabbe and Goyle and Nott and Pansy and Millicent's? They all have something in common. They were among the Dark Lord's most valued servants. They also all managed to convince the Ministry that they had been _imperiused. _Basically, they claimed they were forced into it. I think his mother, like Millicent's, only did it for his father, but she was part of it too." A dead and empty feeling settled in the bottom of his stomach. "For now they're probably telling Draco the same story, but my parents weren't Death Eaters. They were just... supporters. They told me the truth, and I think you should know too. Draco's probably gotten in trouble for being your friend."

He felt sick.

"Slytherin is full of the children of Death Eaters. There are a couple in Ravenclaw, but most are in Slytherin. You should be careful not to cross anyone, okay?" Blaise stood up a bit taller. "I'm not in a position to help if you do. Since my parents wouldn't willingly fight for the Dark Lord, our family is sort of fallen from grace so to speak. We're the Malfoys' pet project, reformed purebloods. If I try to help you, I'll get in trouble too."

"Wait," Harry said, quietly. "Why did Voldemort do it, all the murdering and things? Why did the Malfoys and everyone else help him out?"

"Because he told Purebloods what they wanted to hear, that they were better than everyone else and needed to get rid of muggles, half-bloods, mudbloods, anyone not pureblooded. The Dark Lord promised all of that. Idiots like my parents bought it too. Or maybe they only played along for the same reason I keep my head down, to keep out of trouble. I don't know. I've told you everything I know, so that's it."

Harry waited for words to come. The thought that he was surrounded by people who thought they were better than him because of who his parents were, well that wasn't too strange. That was precisely how he had always lived. It was just the thought that their parents had helped a man try to kill his and him that upset him. He didn't know Blaise well enough to talk about what he was feeling. The only ones he would have been able to were Hagrid and Draco himself. He was about to finally find words when a voice reached the edge of his hearing.

"Which way were they, Peeves?"

Harry and Blaise ran from the room on instinct.

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**A/N: **FINALLY! Someone says something that allows me to do this! Thank you so much JuMiKu.

JuMiKu said:

Your style is magnificent. I adore it.

What I dislike a bit is the notion of Harry pranking Ron. I can't really see Harry doing that. He has at no point in the books (least of all the first, where he was relatively shy) given any indication that he was a prankster. At least from what I could tell.

First, Ju, thank you for the compliment. And thank you again for this statement. It makes me very happy.** Hem-hem!** Forgive my rant, but I've been waiting for someone to do this. Ladies and Gentlemen, I submit to you that EXPERIENCE makes the man. True, within each of us we have things about us that will effect what it is we choose to do. However, those things are influenced by what we see, and do, and experience. Harry's experience is already so incredibly different.

Far from being in Gryffindor tower, talked constantly about by everyone in his House blatantly in front of him, Harry is now in Slytherin Dungeons. Those within it care very little about him except for many holding a quiet, smoldering dislike, some of it due to his fame and the rest of the school's twittering, some due to an innate hatred instilled by their parents. Instead of six boys laughing together in their dorm at night and a very pleasant Ron as his best friend, Harry sleeps in a room where two of them hate him intrinsicly, one doesn't seem to care one way or another about him and the other, up until the chapter prior, didn't seem to care for anyone. Then we add in his best friend, Draco Malfoy, who is quite the strange character to Harry, a jerk one moment and kind the next, not to mention moody in a manner that Canon Harry doesn't experience til book four from Ron.

In short, this is a far different boy already. Harry grew tremendously in the first week in Canon, finally free of the control of the Dursleys and their isolation. It helped shape who he would be, it gave him a hatred of Severus Snape, a disdain for Slytherins and even a vague sense of pride in himself, though tempered by the new experiences about him. Now? Harry is, while not as highly isolated, cut off from the school by the Slytherin Stigma, and left within a circle where he has few allies. His friend from the train is cruel to him, and the only way he has gotten to speak to Hermione at all was when she was sobbing because of Ron's cruelty.

In short: Harry's feeling a little hard done by his first child friend in the Wizarding World and he's going to fight back as he has been taught how. Fred and George Weasley are the talk of the school, big shots, hell, even some Slytherins like them. Draco is constantly placing himself before others mentally and in his words.

All of the above creates an environment in which Harry must grow a bit cunning to survive.

Plus, let's just face it, it's in his blood.

So why is Harry turning to prankery: because short of hexing Ron, it's all he would have to turn to at this point. And Harry knows next to no magic right now.


End file.
